Hearme, my chiefs!

Hearme, my chiefs!
Hearme, my chiefs! I am tired. My heart is sick and sad. From where the sun nowstands, I will fight no more forever.
  

Jan, 20 2012     116 chars (1 sms)     1738 views       Quotes

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Poetry is the impish attempt to paint the colour of the wind.
The tormentof human frustration, whatever its immediate cause, is the knowledge that theself is in prison, its vital force and ‘mangled mind’ leaking away in lonely,wasteful self-conflict.
To do what others cannot do is talent. To do what talent cannot do is genius.
Ultimately, the only power to which man should aspire isthat which he exercises over himself.
Melancholy is the joy of being said.
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The greatest job of teachers is to cultivate talent until it ripens for the public to reap its bounty.
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Experience is a hard teacher because SHE gives the test first, the lesson afterwards.